A Dark Hero
by TheCreepingLullaby
Summary: T-Bag/Michael. Slash. The inner psyches of T-Bag and Michael. Dedicated to hollywood r bin. Spoilers:Most of 4X07. Warnings:dub-con, slight gun kink, maybe a bit ooc on Michael's part. Oneshot. Disclaimer:Me no own. Author:Aireyail


Title:A Dark Hero  
Author:Aireyail  
Pairing/Characters:T-Bag/Michael  
Category:Slash  
Rating:R, possibly NC-17  
Summary:The inner psyches of T-Bag and Michael. Dedicated to hollywood_r_bin.  
Spoilers:Most of 4X07  
Warnings:dub-con, slight gun kink, maybe a bit ooc on Michael's part

"What about her, huh?" Theodore's good hand drove the woman face first into the tiny raven colored dinning table. "How 'bout her, Michael?" Michael watched unsympathetically as the woman's rotund face was crushed to the rich black top of the table. "Any reason why I shouldn't kill her?" Bagwell pressed himself against her and brushed the red locks of hair out of her petrified face while starring intently into Pretty's cold cobalt eyes.

It terrified Michael that he could care less about this timorous and pitiable woman. It frightened him that the words 'No, Teddy. There's no reason why you shouldn't kill her' almost left his lips. She wasn't beneficial to the plan. No connection had been made between them to make her a figure of concern to him. She was expendable.

But then he thought of Sara. Her horrified eyes. The woman stared at him. Sara stared at him. She started to plead. 'That woman could be Sara,' he deliberated. The thought drew him back to himself. Michael gazed into T-Bag's wildly limpid eyes. With Michael's attention settled on him again, as it should be, Bagwell set his mouth in a wide grin.

"Let's do a test." He swept himself up with a grand gesture letting the hand with the gun float hazardously over her. "How far gone is Michael Scofield?" The handgun was cocked and Michael observed the way the light hit the barrel of the gun through the blinds. It shimmered and he could see his eyes reflecting back at him. 'How grotesquely beautiful' Michael pondered.

No remark was made from Scofield as he poised the gun precariously over the woman's temple. Bagwell's bloody crimson rage harnessed itself. The Killer was scratching close to the surface. He could feel the sweet burn of Him. The Murderer clawed at his heart, the little Demon tearing pieces of his humanity apart and gobbling them all up. He could hear Bellick and the woman's screams in the background of his mind vaguely as his rage festered.

Images of Michael at certain points in his life came to the forefront of his psyche. All the times Scofield left him to die. All the times Scofield swindled him. After he had been so kind to the frightened college boy of Fox River. So willing to protect that poor scared little boy. He had been so...gentle. So gracious. And all he had asked in return was Pretty's submission. Michael had denied him.

He repeated himself, roaring; spit flying, "How far gone is Michael Scofield!" He had been wrong about Pretty. Surprisingly, Michael wasn't one for submission. He considered Michael and himself. Side by side. Of the same mind. They were practically equals. They *were* equals. Pretty *would* admit that one day. After he tore those wings off. After he made Pretty come to life. After he *changed* him. If that alteration hadn't already taken place.

"When did it happen, Michael? When did yuh stop caring about hurtin' people, huh? Fox River? Sona? Yuh gonna keep draggin' yer feet while I put a bullet in her brain?" Michael wondered if he should let T-Bag kill her. They'd both be surprised then. The trigger would be pulled and blood and brain matter would fall down upon them like a cleansing rain. Maybe Michael and Theodore would stare at each other then. Each monster gawking at the other as each was painted with tiny globules of human essence. Maybe pure understanding would take place then.

But then there was Sara once more. He could see Sara in the woman's position, being held down by Bagwell, pistol close to doe brown eyes. "Why don't you just put that gun down," he solicited.

"I'll put it down when yuh start writin' stuff down, Pretty!" There had been a moment there Bagwell realized. Theodore could see it in Scofield's eyes. Some kind of comprehension. Some appreciation, maybe? "What's it gonna be, Michael?"

Michael sighed and felt the restraints cutting into his skin, grounding him. "Last chance!" T-Bag forced the gun to her temple cruelly. "Three...two...one!" Maybe they weren't so different after all...a bit longer and T-Bag's finger would slip over that trigger. But he just couldn't let that happen.

"Alright. Alright," he choked. Both Theodore and Michael stared at each other astounded. The moment overwrought. Michael continued, "The pages, they fit together." He let the blanket of conceitedness fall over him. "But it's not a map," he insisted confidently, "It's a blueprint." Now this was ironic, they mused together. A blueprint, after all, had led them to cross providences initially.

With genuine curiosity, Bagwell asked, "For what?" As Michael opened those pretty pink lips to answer him they were interrupted by the sharp trill of T-Bag's cell.

*****

Theodore Bagwell stormed with dramatic grace through the swinging doors leading into the study. "I'm givin' yuh one more-," he stopped. Teddy could do nothing more but stare transfixed at the slightly elegant curve of Michael's back hunched over in absorption. He noticed the coal colored tresses growing in again at Pretty's nape. The Sona tan lessening and becoming the fair white color of their Fox River days. Pretty didn't get his charming little nickname for nothing and this became more apparent now by the light of the sun streaming through the blinds. Even prettier now when Michael was playing by his rules.

T-Bag smirked. The blueprint looked completed. "What is all this?" He strolled in his usual fashion toward Michael in wonderment.

Michael let his fingertips sweep the surface of the document in finality and contentment. He smiled. "This is Whistler's blueprint." Still grinning he gazed into Theodore's eyes. "It's the building where we can find Scylla. In other words, it's Gate." Bagwell leaned over Scofield's shoulder feeling this liaison between them to be every bit an old partnership as it should be.

He comfortably rested the gun against Michael's chair. "Where's Scylla?"

The shift in atmosphere had Michael looking back at the blueprint awkwardly. "I can't be certain until I see the building itself, but I'm pretty sure it's somewhere down here, below this office." He let his hand lazily trace the portion of the blueprint symbolizing Cole's late workplace.

Michael observed the small squint of confusion on T-Bag's face. The lines at the corner of Teddy's eyes deepened and made a fantastic contrast with the tanned skin. "What is Scylla?"

Michael licked his desiccated lips and turned back to the document. "It's the company's little black book." He paused and summoned up enough aggressiveness for what he was going to say next. "I want you to take me to Gate, now." A veritable demand.

An excitement so thrilling ran through Bagwell's bones. It thrummed in the air between them and he felt himself tremor with it. He backed away from Michael slowly pointing a finger, the good hand with the gun, at him. "Because yuh can smell that Scylla money, can't yuh?" There *was* a change in Michael. They were now utterly equivalent, Pretty and him. "That's what yer in it for, just like me." They mirrored each other. Each of them looking deeply through the other. "Say it," he commanded. "Come on. I want you to say it."

Letting T-Bag have his complete attention he faced him and stared profoundly into the other man's eyes. "I'm in it for the money," he lied. Of course Michael's reasons to find Scylla didn't in actuality have anything to do with money, but those reasons were still selfish reasons nonetheless.

Teddy savored this. The look on Michael's attractive face. This connection and similarity between them. This was all he had wanted. This truth. "Yuh see. We ain't so different after all."

*****

Proudly and with flourish T-Bag's next words were declared, "Step into *my* office." He opened Cole Pfeiffer's, or rather Whistler's, office door politely and allowed Michael entrance first.

Going straight to work, business first as always, Michael spread the blueprint across Bagwell's old desk. "Well, there should be a room eight by ten, Whistler's point of entry," he announced. Glancing around the fair sized office his eyes finally settled on the only other space in the room, the closet.

Theodore watched in amusement as Michael started toward the closet entry. "That's a closet," Teddy notified.

Michael smiled. "No. It's not."

"Go ahead. There's nothin' back there," he mumbled, trying to appear distracted and disinterested as he leaned next to the closet door.

"I know," Michael grumbled in reply. "Do you have anything sharp?" Michael fiddled with the edge of the office's new beige carpet. T-Bag rummaged through some of the storage boxes before spotting a screwdriver and without apprehension handed it to Michael.

"So, what are yuh hearin' Scylla's worth," Teddy mused. "Me, I'm hearin' millions. Is that rough ballpark in terms of what yuh been told," he asked inquisitively. Scofield ripped the taupe carpet halfway from the small closet floor and began to chip away at some old tile. A peculiar metal door, black with age, appeared from the damaged tile. "What do we have here," T-Bag whispered.

Without thinking Michael said, "You better back up." He continued to pull at the carpet and whittle away the old tile before ultimately opening the hatch with a resounding clank.

Theodore closely sidled himself next to Michael. "Yuh and me and a dark hole," he sneered, letting the gun be the only barrier between them. "Just like old times, Pretty." He grinned as he observed the small clench in Scofield's jaw. "Yuh first."

*****

Bagwell smiled as he watched the way Michael scrutinized their surroundings in that intriguing way of his. Rubbing the gun down the side of his cheek he was decided. "Up against the wall." He pointed the gun in Michael's direction looking every bit of the predator he was famed for being.

Michael questioned himself silently, 'against the wall?' With the gun trained on him Michael did as ordered. He contemplated over T-Bag's reasoning for this and understanding finally dawned as Theodore forced them against the wall as one.

He trailed the gun down Michael's chest provocatively stopping at the top of his bellybutton to retrace his path. "Yuh've been real good up to this point, Pretty. I think it's time for a little reward."

Michael pushed the handgun away lethargically. "If you do this, you do realize, that things will be different between us."

He gazed into those colder than thou blue eyes and leered. "Well, now, I think it's time for some change, don't yuh think Mikey?"

"No, I don't think so *Teddy*."

He chuckled. "Who's the man with the gun?" He dragged the gun across the pout of Michael's bottom lip. He stared amazed at the disparity of the gun and those sinfully full lips at once. "I want you to suck it," he softly instructed. Weighing the repercussions of refusing T-Bag, Michael made an "o" with his mouth and let the gun slide between his lips.

Michael examined the hot flush making a sweeping path along Theodore's cheekbones to the sharp point of his collarbone as he tongued the pistol. Teddy's breath came in rapid pants. Even in this moment Michael controlled T-Bag.

Theodore rested his forehead lightly alongside Michael's neck and bit into his own lip. "Do yuh know how long I've been waitin' for this moment?" He jerked the firearm from Pretty's inflamed lips.

"Turn around." Michael complied with a huff. Bagwell let his prosthetic hand lay against Michael's hip soothingly while the other hand worked to unfasten both his and Pretty's buttons. Together he tugged down pale blue jeans and white satin boxers to mid hip allowing his own to slip downward by force. He stopped suddenly letting himself take a step back to admire the view and ran the gun over both cheeks. He snickered as Michael shivered.

Theodore moulded his frame to Michael's back and ran his artificial hand along Michael's stomach to get a better grasp of him. With the other hand he took hold of Pretty's cock. Michael gasped at the cool gun touching his heated skin. "Yuh and I are the same, Pretty." He jerked Michael roughly.

"Why can't yuh understand that," Teddy questioned. Michael grew hard in T-Bag's hand and he could feel a twitch of a smile from Bagwell as he relaxed his lips against his shoulder. He parted Michael's thighs. "We could be so good together," he muttered.

Michael imagined Bagwell and himself, cons on the run, murdering together, robbing banks, and ending the day with hot lattes and a quick snuggle by a warm fire, somehow he could only think, 'Ridiculous.'

A sharp pain jolted him from this absurd fantasy and he grunted in pain. "We fit together flawlessly." He pulled Michael's burning cheeks apart lewdly to glimpse at their joining. To make sure it was *really* happening.

He gave a couple short thrusts causing Michael to whine and moan simultaneously. He wouldn't let Bagwell win this one. He pressed back and grabbed for Teddy's hip for better leverage. Theodore threw his head back and groaned. He snickered and almost said, 'Yer something else, Pretty,' but instead pushed back harder making Michael cry out, his nails scraping along the wall to find purchase.

"I want yuh to say it, Michael." Another quick thrust with ruthless force was made to Michael's prostrate and he nearly sobbed, but opted biting his lip instead. "Admit it. Say yer like me," he rumbled. "Say we're the same." Michael could feel the handgun pressed to his side harshly as T-bag gripped for a better hold. "Admit it. Admit it!"

Michael shook his head, panting roughly. "No, we're not."

Theodore threw the superior hand with the pistol across Pretty's chest and shoulders to draw him back onto his upper torso. Michael let his head fall against Bagwell's shoulder. T-Bag continued, "Yes. Yes, we are." He nipped at Michael's jaw. "Admit it, Pretty! Tell me what we both already know."

Michael wailed at an additional brutal shove and relented. "We're the same. We're the same..." Impelling himself on Teddy's cock once me he screamed in release.

Michael let his forehead rest against the cold stone wall as Bagwell callously fucked him to his own loud completion.

Tired and satiated he flipped the younger man around and, to Michael's annoyment, pushed their lips together in a sad mimic of a post-coital kiss.

Bagwell grimaced realizing his mistake and dragged his pants back over his hips. "Well, what's next in Whistler's blueprint," he inquired casually.

Still recovering Michael glared heatedly at T-Bag. "I don't know. Why don't you figure it out. I'm done helping you," he said drawing up his own jeans.

Theodore smirked rising the gun that was still clutched firmly in his hand. "Sounds like someone's stuck in the ole captivity of negativity. Let's get yuh into a more affirmative mindset." He sauntered toward Michael menacingly. "What's next?"

Michael looked lost in a daydream as he ran his fingers slowly over the wire fence connected to the storage area. "I think I'm going to lock you in this room. And then you're going to be arrested and taken back to Fox River."

Theodore laughed and Michael smiled. T-Bag never saw the punch coming up from behind him as Mahone striked.

*****


End file.
